Redemption
by Munku-JGSPTV
Summary: Harry Potter and Severus Snape find themselves locked in a room together for an extended period of time. A strange, twisted relationship ensues.
1. Flames

**A/N - With thanks to Queen, some long unheard Linkin Park and good coffee coursing through my veins, I was finally able to find a beginning to this story. I hope you like it. You may find this prologue confusing. Persevere! Or, just skip to the next chapter :P**

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Prologue – Flames

He felt exhaustion draining from behind his eyes, as though a light, stretched, was being sucked away from them.

It was a constant pull, this effect so akin to an extended Dementor's presence. Yet he felt no less elated – it seemed that, within him, there were no happy memories left.

His bloodied fist was still clenched tight on his half-broken wand. He let the used wooden implement drop into his pocket, then held his wand-arm with his other hand, recognising the internal dull thud as aching pain.

He stumbled over something on the dusty ground.

A body.

Harry looked down. Dress in Death Eater robes, a mask thrown several metres away… The face was turned away from him, but Harry recognised the dark figure.

Severus Snape.

Harry stepped back in slight shock, but the thought of the man possibly retaining life pervaded his barriers of exhaustion.

He kicked Snape's dirtied head in frustration, knocking it further into the dirt.

He prodded it with his toes again. No movement.

Harry's eyes flew open, and he stretched his arm back in pain, knowing he would have no magic left to use, neither to heal or kill what was left of this man, if he still _did _have breath.

Harry stepped closer again. Kick. Never a reaction.

"Fucking wake up!" He screamed.

He could have been saying it to himself.

This long day, night, whatever, had seemed a dream. _For so long…_

Suddenly his right arm spasmed, and Harry's back arched in acute pain of its own accord. He swore and fell to his knees on the ground, groaning as the delayed sense of pain infiltrated his being.

His moanings soon became sobs and he fell on his side, cringing and almost writhing in gasps of something infinitely worse than any Cruciatus curse.

The cries wracked through his body, and he unintentionally curled in the direction of Snape's limp form. He covered his head and face with his hands, streams of salty tears draining out of his eyes, remembering the endured ordeal and the now of the pain.

Harry's head banged against Snape's shoulder and his nearly-dried blood gathered dust from the ground as his body slowly stilled, his eyes remaining open, unfocused, as his system shut down to cope with the pain and extreme fatigue. He would not wake for many hours.

Severus Snape coughed as his body was jolted by the warmth of another person against his back.

He half-rolled to allow his eyes to flicker slightly open, casting an indistinguishable gaze onto the form of Harry.

"_Potter_." Snape's voice was a croaking, roughened sound. He coughed again.

He failed to keep his eyes open, and was unable to see or hear the figure in tattered robes that clutched a wand, coming forward to seize them both.

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I'm not going to promise cookies or plushies, but I do like reviews! 


	2. Infandum

A/N – I thank my reviewers. _Bows._ I am aiming to update once a week. Thank you to **purrbaby101, Nemo Returning, Dragonero, chi no hana, WitchbladeHell, saphirefox, SnapesYukuai, laragirl007, Amanda Saitou, Kiko cat, misty, cali-luv, Padawan Jan-AQ, Ani Abel** and **ForeverinMoonlight** for reviewing.

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Redemption - Infandum

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Harry awoke.

He felt it was a long time before he could open his eyes, as though he was not able to summon the energy, or he had taken a particularly strong sleeping draught.

Blinking slowly, tiredly, he found himself looking at a dark, blurry ceiling. Harry painstakingly shifted his arm around, attempting to find his glasses. He managed to turn his head slightly to the right, finding a dull stone wall, and discovering he was on a bed.

His fingers stretched, feeling thick woollen blankets, and Harry forgot his search.

Where was he?

Harry tried to sit up and found it completely impossible.

It felt as though his muscles were unaccustomed to moving and he considered the dull pain running around his body; it seemed to be filtering through his bones.

He paused for a moment, exhaling softly and shallowly, lying still.

Wincing, Harry curled his left arm away from his body, leaving the bed. He leg soon followed, dangling off the edge. Harry opened his eyes again and tried to sort out where he was.

All his vision revealed was shades of darkness – and he did not know if this was due only to his lack of glasses.

Harry almost grunted as he contended with swinging his torso to a nearly upright position, cursing that his body had somehow become so weak and slow.

He gingerly placed his left foot bare on the ground, heard a crunching chink of glass and sensed a sharp pain spreading through the numb ache that he felt all over.

He had found his glasses.

As he bent over, he became vaguely aware of another sound in the room, or whatever place he was in. His mind distantly wondered if he had been taken to St. Mungo's, though he couldn't see how that was possible, as…

Both of his feet had reached the ground, and Harry brought his glasses to his lap before prying a piece of glass from a faintly red foot.

Now sitting on the edge of the bed, Harry sat motionless. It seemed foolish that he had to rest before putting on his glasses.

After a minute, Harry brought them hesitantly to his face and blinked rapidly when they came to rest on his nose, hoping his vision would be clearer.

The view appeared to be clouded with crimson and broken by two sharp lines – where the rightlens had been smashed.

His vision, although slightly improved, did not leave Harry feeling at all reassured. It was still blurry, and he could see the shaky edges of a door several metres ahead.

A dark blob caught his eye as it moved on his right, and Harry realised that it was _Snape_. Severus Snape, who was sitting on the floor, back leaning against the wall. That the man wasn't dead was the first thing Harry noted, and then determined they had clearly both been brought to the same place while each in a terrible condition.

Harry almost stood up, but breathed out heavily when he began to feel how much effort that would take.

"Where are we?" He settled on asking. Or at least tried to – the only sound his throat produced was a croaking, dry rasp that made him cough without having communicated anything at all.

Snape's nearly indistinguishable head barely moved, and Harry felt rather than saw his gaze. Although he had not spoken any identifiable words, Snape seemed to know what Harry was asking. And Harry could feel the imagined sarcastic response: "Where do you _think_?".

Harry gathered his surroundings again. There were two small shapes of light, one each on the left and right walls. There was some kind of hole on the floor on his left, near the head of his bed, but Harry could not make out much more than that.

He coughed again, knowing his need for a drink. His tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth as he made to speak again, but he saw Snape pointing with a sagging arm to the door at the far end of the room.

Harry nodded, then stood slowly. He almost fell back onto the bed, and held out an arm to steady himself. Even has he waited his strength seemed to be returning slightly and he was starting to be able to make out more shapes in the room; he could now see the stones of the wall nearest to him.

His left foot felt slippery underneath and both legs were shaking, but Harry stumbled past Snape to the opposite end of the room. The other man seemed to be purposefully ignoring him. Harry leant against the wall for a good few minutes.

His hand sought the doorknob tiredly, and Harry absently hoped it was a door leading to a bathroom with a tap or two.

He was not to be disappointed. The light was slightly better in this smaller room; a window of sorts was situated high up in the wall on the right, laid nearly at the ceiling.

Harry instantly hobbled to the sink directly in front of him, and turned on the water.

At first it was a gush of murky brown, but became clear, and Harry was too thirsty to consider how healthy it was, cupping palms of the liquid to his mouth, relishing the relief.

He panted when he felt he could drink no more, turned the tap off, and collapsed, sitting on top of the nearby toilet seat. There was an old bath on the other corner, but nothing else aside.

It seemed that wherever they were it was only the bare minimum for survival.

Harry relaxed and closed his eyes, feeling quite tired.

He regained some strength, made use of the toilet, and made it back to the main room, shutting the bathroom door again behind him.

His eyes seemed now more adjusted to his dank climate, and he could see that Snape was still in the same position, looking quite thoroughly disgusted.

Harry now saw another bed in a small alcove next to the one he had found himself in, and then realised that there were no other doors. No obvious or _allowed_ escape routes. They were trapped. Harry now knew that Snape's disgust went beyond Harry shuffling miserably across his line of sight. They were being held prisoner.

The answer seemed quite clear, but as he, and Snape particularly, had enemies on both sides, when Harry had made it back to his bed, he asked –

"Who?" his voice, somewhat recovered and feeling less sore, still sounded unused and scratched.

Snape sat almost imperceptibly straighter as he replied with no evidence of emotion.

"Death Eaters, most likely."

Harry sighed and lay down, rolling to face the wall his bed was shoved against.

He blinked then pulled his glasses off, half-throwing them under his bed where he would not step on them again. He thought his foot had stopped bleeding now. He should have washed it clean when he was in the bathroom…

Mind vaguely working like a shadow of itself, Harry wondered when he had received the shabby grey robes he was wearing, before falling once more into a deep slumber.

When Harry became conscious of the world again, it was to a soft scraping sound.

Feeling that his body was less sore, and he thankfully could not recall having any of his _usual_ dreams, Harry rose from the bed, noting that Snape was sitting on the cold floor, spooning some thick soup from a plate into a bowl.

The other man glanced up at him, and then pushed the bowl-with-spoon over.

Snape himself sat still, seemingly waiting for something. Harry realised that there was only one spoon and threw it to Snape, hungrily lifting the bowl to his mouth and practically drinking the cold, tasteless soup.

Snape scowled at Harry's actions, but took the wooden handle of the spoon and started ladling the food to his mouth with far more dignity.

Harry realised after he finished that the small meal could have been easily poisoned. But, really, if they were being held as prisoners by the remaining Death Eaters, and they were to be killed, it would have happened already. Those few still alive that had been loyal to Voldemort had far more preferred and efficient methods of murder.

Harry decided to watch Snape until the other man finished eating also. If Snape was fine with taking food from Death Eaters, Harry figured he could trust the Potion Master's judgement. Besides, it seemed clear that they were not going to be provided with anything else.

Snape finished his share of the meagre serving shortly thereafter, and snatched Harry's bowl, as well as taking his plate and spoon as to what appeared to be some kind of hole in the floor.

Harry pulled out his glasses and was able to see that it was a kind of drain, a hollowing between the wall and floor – large enough only to push something like food through.

Snape placed the used utensils in the gap-hole and stood, brushing his hands down on the tattered dark-grey robes that were so similar to the ones Harry was wearing.

He remained silent, but waiting for Harry to speak, certain there were questions. Most likely angry questions concerning his loyalties and to gauge how dangerous or violent he potentially was.

However, Harry appeared not interested in accusations.

"How long was I out for?"

Seemingly slightly startled, Snape replied haltingly,

"Two days. That was when I regained consciousness. Beyond that I do not know."

Harry nodded, and stood, pacing around slowly, still feeling a dull aching circulating around his body.

"And food through this small hole?" Harry paused near the drain-like gap, squinting at it.

"I have received two meals per day," Snape affirmed. "By non-magical means, I believe. I have not yet seen our captors."

Harry quirked a brow at him. His tone, as he next spoke, was mock-bordering on fun.

"So, we're prisoners of Death Eaters together?"

There was as pause.

Snape stared back.

"It would seem so."

Harry laughed momentarily. He felt not even the remotest sense of hysterical joy. It just seemed rather odd. Saviour Harry Potter and the _traitor_ Snape, couped up in close quarters.

His grim humour soon left him and he sat back down on his bed.

Snape's brow creased and the dark-haired man moved away as though to look out one of the small cathedral-like windows, which only let in a fogged layer of light. Harry wasn't sure if they were real or magicked.

"And no idea where we are?"

Snape deigned him with no response.

"Fantastic," Harry muttered, and he could not keep the bitter sarcasm out of his voice.

Feeling suddenly tired again, and annoyed that he was, his eyes began to flutter closed, glimpsing before he fell asleep Snape glaring at the patch of light in front of him with some form of harrowed determination.

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